


A Thief in the Night

by fictionalportal



Series: Femslash Advent Calendar 2017 [3]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Bandits & Outlaws, F/F, Romance, Sheriff's Daughter!Laura, Wild West AU, outlaw!carmilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 22:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12921516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalportal/pseuds/fictionalportal
Summary: Day 3 - Rocking HorseToday's advent calendar prompt fit perfectly with a prompt from izzyvonheeringen on tumblr: Hollstein Western AU - outlaw Carmilla/sheriff’s daughter Laura.Herein, a mysterious rider carries the sheriff's daughter off into the night.Enjoy! And thanks for the prompt :)





	A Thief in the Night

Everybody in West Silas knows the myth about the raven-haired girl and her black horse. A handful of the townspeople claim to have seen her stallion galloping over the mud at twilight, but the official stance of Sheriff Hollis is that no such girl exists. Not in his town. You see, Sheriff Hollis has never believed in ghosts, and no overblown outlaw is going to convince him otherwise. His daughter, on the other hand, is a little more openminded.

Laura Hollis stays quiet whenever somebody brings up the girl on the horse. It takes all her willpower to keep her mouth shut. She could holler the girl’s name for the whole town to hear if she so wished, but she prefers to whisper it to a single set of ears. After the whole town has gone to sleep, Laura stays awake just a little longer than she should. Sometimes, she falls asleep in the old carved chair by the window. Other times, she spots the gleam of a silver buckle and a tar-black silhouette. She flees her room in her nightgown, careful to lift the hem as she drops from her window onto the frozen mud below.

There’s not much to do in West Silas during the winter except wait for spring. Laura swears that someday she’ll leave this desolate little town and go east. Or north. Or south--it doesn’t matter to her as long as she’s riding behind the girl with the raven hair. Carmilla.

Cold wind slices into her skin as the ebony stallion abandons the town. Carmilla smells less like dirt than she usually does. She’s washed her hair somewhere other than the river today.

The little cave outside of town is always warm with the fire that Carmilla never lets die. Its tenacious embers smolder and crackle tonight, quiet and dim. Carmilla lands on her feet as gracefully as a cat leaping from a bookshelf. She offers a hand to Laura, but Laura dismounts without assistance and without getting her foot caught in the stirrup (it’s the fourth time she’s done so successfully. More than one soiled nightgown can attest).

The stallion, for all its brawn, is sly and silent. Carmilla ties it to a tree a hundred paces from the cave’s entrance and it stays put, oddly contented by its loneliness.

Laura settles in next to the fire, careful to stand as close as possible without her nightgown catching flame. Carmilla comes inside and Laura sees her clearly for the first time that night: black leather from heel to head. The sharp silver spurs on her sleek boots glint dangerously in the fire’s light. Her tight riding leggings leave few questions unanswered (not that Laura has to rely on her imagination to know what’s underneath). Fraying fringes on her jacket cling for life. The black hat and its sinister silver buckle tease as many mysteries as those leggings reveal. She’s a beautiful paradox, this legendary girl. It’s hard to believe she’s more than a mirage.

She takes her time slithering across the cool rock. Laura tells her that “Only a poor hostess keeps a guest waiting.”

“I’ve been derelict indeed,” Carmilla replies without changing her pace in the slightest. “You’re not cold, are you?”

“Practically frozen, in fact.”

“Shame.”

When Carmilla touches her, that’s when Laura knows she’s real. Knows that this isn’t one of those dreams that keep her company on the nights she isn’t whisked away from town.

She’s never forceful, Carmilla. Her fingertips are gentle, reverent against the skin on Laura’s wrist. She leans closer, closer...never close enough. Her long hair brushes Laura’s exposed chest, and the chill that runs up Laura’s spine couldn’t be more distant from the winter cold.

“Come away with me.” Carmilla’s low voice crackles with exhilarated anticipation.

Without a moment’s thought, Laura whispers, “Yes, yes,” and captures Carmilla’s lips with her own.

Carmilla smiles against her lips and vows to make Laura scream her answer.

***


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